Sugar Shock
by embroiderama
Summary: Sam doesn't know how much sugar is too much when it comes to de-aged!Dean.


Sam sat in the crappy little motel room chair and put his head in his hands, wishing he could block out the sound the way he had the sight of it.

*BOING*

*BOING*

*BOING*

*BOING*

Except it wasn't that simple. Each *BOING* came packaged with a wheeze and squeak of no doubt rusty springs and the poof-thud of small bare feet landing on the polyester comforter. The pace was steady, his brother giving no sign of slacking off.

"Christ, would you sit down already?"

"Nope!" Dean called out, the word punctuated by another thud*BOING*wheeze combo.

Sam looked up at his brother--his brother who appeared all of seven years old, tiny and wiry with dark blond hair and huge freckles. "Dean! It's an order!"

"Only take orders from Dad." Dean bounced up again. Again. "You're not Dad."

And it was hard to argue with that logic, especially when Dean hadn't asked much about where Dad was or when he'd be back and Sam wanted to stay away from that topic with a ten foot pole. He stood up and walked over to stand at the foot of the bed. "I'm big enough to make you stop."

"You won't hurt me."

"Yeah?"

"You're Sammy." Dean flashed a gap-toothed smile on his way back up into the air.

"How do you know I'm telling you the truth?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he bounced in front of Sam's face. "I know it." He bounced again. "Know it in my head." thud*BOING*wheeze "Sides, only Sam would know both of my favoritest candies."

Sam looked behind him at the table, at the empty king size bag of peanut M&Ms and the empty Pixy Stix tubes laying strewn like an I Ching cast that foretold sugar shock. They'd been a peace offering to Dean who was pissed off about not being allowed to go finish up burning the bones of the necromancer who'd cursed him. Sam had left Dean with a babysitter, and that went over really goddamn bad. But Sam got the bones burned without having to worry about Dean getting hurt, and he'd managed to figure out that the curse would only last until the next new moon, just days away.

On his way back to the motel, he made a stop at the 7-11 for things to make Dean happy, and he hadn't even thought about what that much sugar could do to such a small kid. He hadn't expected Dean to go through it so quickly either, cramming the M&Ms in his face as fast as he could chew and shotgunning the Pixy Stix in between mouthfuls. The sugar hit fast, Dean's little body vibrating with energy, and it was too late to go to a park where he could run it off, too crappy of a neighborhood to be out in the parking lot with a little kid.

Bouncing on the bed had been the obvious answer, but Dean had been at it for at least 45 minutes, and Sam wanted to shoot himself in the face. He could remember now that Dad had always made them split one candy or dessert between them if they were going to be holed up in the car or a room, and it suddenly made sense. Sam was tired and he wanted to go to bed, and he needed Dean to stop. Now.

The next time Dean's feet hit the mattress, Sam grabbed his shoulders, holding him down. His hands wrapped all the way over and around Dean's skinny shoulders, and it made him feel like a giant. An angry giant. "STOP!"

Dean's face took on a determined look that hadn't changed much in twenty-plus years, and he jumped in Sam's grip and kicked. Both of his bare feet his Sam's stomach before he could tense up to protect himself, and he loosened his grip in shock. Dean was bouncing up in the air again, higher than ever, a deeply evil grin on his face. "I'm gonna keep jumping as long as I want!"

The _so there_ was silent but clear and Sam turned around, hoping to find a solution or his sanity or something. He was nine breaths into his ten breath time-out when the bouncing behind him ended with a heavier thud. Sam turned around to see Dean sitting on the bed with his mouth closed and his face a little pale under the freckles.

"Dean? You okay?"

Dean's mouth quirked to the side in a half frown and then he pushed himself forward and heaved a mess of brown and rainbow-colored puke onto the carpet at Sam's feet. "Sorry." Dean's voice was small and muted as he hung over the edge of the mattress. "Sorry."

"Aw, Dean." Sam stepped around the puddle and sat down next to Dean, rubbing a hand over his brother's narrow back. "It's okay. My fault, anyway." Dean sniffled, and Sam gathered him up, carried him into the bathroom to get cleaned up. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


End file.
